Before she put on her sun-helmet, she paused before the mirror. Don’t think it was anything better than fever—or a bit beautiful. The fascination of the idea of throwing himself upon his knees and crying out all that was in his heart! As his eyes began to focus objects, he saw one of her arms extended upon the counterpane, in his direction, the hand clenched tightly. We were only—les autres. I feel a mixture of beast and uncle.
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